


From Pent-up Aching Rivers

by McTagster



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur survived, Ejaculation, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Masturbation, Sexual Content, post-chapter 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McTagster/pseuds/McTagster
Summary: While riding through West Elizabeth on a blistering hot day, a thirsty, sweaty Arthur stops for a well deserved break..
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	From Pent-up Aching Rivers

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place around 20 months after Chapter 6 and shortly after my other short fic 'Deluxe Service' 
> 
> The title is borrowed from the beautiful poem of the same name by my favourite poet, Walt Whitman.

Arthur had barely been back on the road for more than 30 minutes, but the blistering heat meant that his shirt was already sticking to his back with sweat. He reached up and grasped the rim of his stalker hat, pulling it off his head with a sigh. He ran his free hand through his damp hair before he placed it back, shielding his eyes again from the unrelenting sun. Rhiannon walked lazily, the sound of her hooves against the dirt road clip-clopping with a slow, lazy rhythm.

“You alrite gurrl?” he rumbled as he leaned to pat her dusty neck. She snorted and tossed her head, leaning into his gentle touch for a moment before she carried on, uncomplaining.

The stop he’d made at Riggs Station had been for little more than 10 minutes. She needed to stop for a longer break soon, he thought - and so did he.

He pulled her to halt and slid off the saddle, deciding that he could at least lighten her load until they reached their destination. He took his canteen from his saddle bag and drank what was left of his water. It wasn’t much, and he grumbled as he replaced the stopper and put the canteen away.

“C, mon gurrl, almost there” he reassured her as he took the reins and led her along the road.

Before too long they crossed the bridge over Hawks Eye Creek, then Arthur led Rhiannon off the road, up the sloping bank, following the river North. He found a quiet spot, far enough away from the road for some privacy where the swell of the river met the edge of the bank.

He led Rhiannon to the water’s edge.

“There you go gurrl”

She lowered her head and drank while Arthur crouched and filled his canteen, took a long drink of his own and refilled it again. Then he left her to it, knowing she’d graze a while when she’d had her fill of water. He walked back to the shade of two nearby pine trees to take shelter from the sun. He took off his hat, fanned himself for a moment as he pushed his fingers through his hair again, and dropped the stalker on the ground.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his homemade smokes, slid it between his lips and searched his pocket for a match. He pulled one out, flicked it to life on his boot and cupped his hands around his face to light up before he shook the flame out and tossed the match aside.

He stood for a while, enjoying the sounds of the woods as he smoked; birds singing in the branches above his head, the gentle flow of the river and the quiet sounds of Rhiannon as she tore chunks of grass from the bank and ground them between her teeth. He smiled as he paused and breathed in painless lungfuls of air, the scent of Pine and wildflowers filling his nose as he looked upstream and surveyed his surroundings.

He was close to Strawberry now, and although he’d planned to camp here under the stars tonight, he began to consider riding a little further to reach the town before nightfall. A real bed and a hot meal that consisted of more than plain rabbit meat was very appealing.

He liked Strawberry, despite the couple of bad experiences he’d had there in the past. The last time he’d ventured to stay there, less than a month before, he had ridden into town warily, wondering if anyone would recognise him from the past. To his relief, his 20-month absence from the town meant that everyone had forgotten his face, or they’d never really noticed him in the first place, all that time ago. He thought briefly about everything that had been going on in his life during the times he’d regularly dropped in to stay the night at the Welcome Center then; just before the gang had gone to shit and he’d barely got out alive.

He quickly pushed the thoughts of his old life away, and his mind drifted to the night a few weeks ago, when he’d ridden into the town just after dusk and stopped at the small Hotel. He’d asked for a meal and a bath, hoping it wasn’t too late in the day for either one. Thankfully, he’d been able to enjoy both. Because of the lateness of the hour, the meal he’d been offered had been simple; just some bread, cheese and fruit, washed down with a few mouthfuls of whisky from his flask. But it was the bath that had turned out to be the most memorable – and enjoyable - part of his stay.

He smiled as he remembered. Remembered sitting in the bath, soaking his aching body and enjoying the solitude before he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

The bath girl.

Accepting the services of a girl like her was something he’d rarely done before. Even when he’d been young and stupid and full of something that Dutch and Hosea would tell him to get out of his system by going to a Saloon and visiting a woman who would see him right. It wasn’t in his nature to pay money for the company of a woman, even then. Most of the intimate encounters he’d had in his life had been with someone who had been as eager as he had. Someone who _wanted_ to lie with him, and not simply for his money. Usually a girl he’d met in a bar or a store or even when he was out travelling on the road. A few times, it had been one of the girls who had run with the gang for a short time before moving on. Money had rarely been involved, even during most of the times he’d partaken in a night of drunken, fumbled sex with a total stranger in a back room or a back alley. And he’d had his fair share of those in his youth. But as he got older, he felt he’d rather go without than pay women to lie with him. Especially after he’d parted ways with Mary.

The woman at the Strawberry hotel had felt a little different. He knew she was offering him her ‘services’ for money, but after the hell he’d been through and the fact that he hadn’t felt the intimate touch of a woman for a such a long time, he’d quickly relented and ignored his self-imposed ban on such things.

Then he’d been surprised when she seemed to want him. _Really_ want him. She’d given him compliments of course, he’d expected that; he knew that working girls always did it to butter up their clients and he’d felt vaguely embarrassed at her words. But then she’d looked him right in his eyes and told him he was the most handsome feller she’d ever seen, and despite himself, he’d believed her. The intense look in her eyes that followed, telling him that her desire for him was beyond the cash in his wallet was enough to fuel his desire, his passion and even his confidence, resulting in an evening he’d not quickly, if ever, forget.

As he stood under the shade of the Pine trees, smiling at the thought of her, he began to feel a heat low down in his belly. He took a final drag of his cigarette, dropped the stub on the grass and ground it under the heel of his boot. He leaned back against the tree, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and allowed his mind to wander.

His thoughts lingered on the bath girl.

He thought of her pale skin and red hair, her blue eyes, the feel of her slender neck in his large hand as he’d grasped her and pulled her to him. The way she’d looked at him, the way she’d _touched_ him. How she’d tasted and felt. He groaned at the thoughts as his cock twitched and the heat in his belly pooled lower.

He unhooked one thumb from his belt and slid his hand down over the heat of his crotch. He was already half hard. He groaned as he gripped his length through his pants and gently squeezed, the heat and pleasure already beginning to rise through his body, causing the skin on his neck and cheeks to flush. He was warm, too warm.

He glanced around. The woods were quiet and his spot under the trees was shaded and private. Rhiannon still stood at the water’s edge, lazily grazing, her tail flicking at flies in the sunshine. He smiled again.

He pushed away from the tree, unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop to the grass with a thunk. He slid his suspenders off his shoulders before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it open and down off his shoulders, the soft fabric halfway down his arms and back. Despite the heat, the breeze in the shade was slightly cooler and it gently caressed his skin. He was still warm, but he felt much better.

As he enjoyed the soft breeze against his naked flesh, he began to run a hand up his belly, over his stomach and ribs, his palm flat, and rubbed in large, slow circles all round his bare chest, the sweat on his body dampening the fine hair.

He leaned back against the tree again and let his head fall back as he continued to think of the Strawberry bath girl. His cock was even harder now, tenting his pants and making them uncomfortably tight. He found some relief when he popped the first few buttons of his fly.

As he again gripped himself through the fabric of his pants, the ache in his loins grew stronger by the second. It felt good. So good that he wanted it to last as long as possible. So, he abandoned his fly and rubbed around his stomach again, both his hands now gently gliding over his skin, heightening his arousal, his flesh tingling under the touch of his rough palms. He continued to sweep his left hand across his chest, feeling the soft hair against his fingertips, his nipples hardening under the gentle circling of his thumb. First one, then the other. He shivered with anticipation.

He pushed his right hand lower and swept from right to left, hip to hip, his stomach muscles contracting slightly under his hand as his cock twitched again and the ache in his balls grew stronger. He hummed lowly as he pushed his fingertips into the open gap of his fly, feeling the coarse hair, gently curling his fingers into the wiry curls. He popped another button.

He began take deeper, heavier breaths, trying to control himself as he thought of the girl, remembered how it felt to have her hands wrapped around his length. He licked his dry lips and pushed his hand lower still, deeper inside the confines of his pants, rubbing around his lower belly, his thighs, his groin. He deliberately kept his hand away from his cock, teasing himself as it strained almost painfully against his pants. He was fully hard now.

He pulled his hand out of his pants, stood up straight and pulled the shirt off his shoulders, peeling it away from his back where it was still stuck to him with sweat. He shook it off his arms and tossed it to the ground. He popped the last couple of buttons of his fly and pulled his pants open. His cock sprang free and he groaned loudly at the delicious feelings of freedom and relief. Somehow, being exposed to the open air only added to his excitement. He took a few moments to enjoy it before he grasped the waistband of his pants and slowly pushed them down, leaving them halfway down his thick thighs.

He leaned again against the tree, feeling the rough bark digging into the naked flesh of his back and the soft, firm flesh of his ass, every touch against his skin adding new sensations, raising the thrill spreading through his body.

He reached down and took himself in his hand, closed his eyes and groaned at the intense pleasure of his own touch. He ran his hand slowly from base to tip, the silky-smooth skin soft against his palm. He held his hand there for a few moments, opened his eyes and breathed deeply as he swept his thumb over the tip. Once, twice, three times. He shivered again.

He gently and slowly began to stroke himself. He rubbed his free hand over his stomach, up to his chest, over the stiff nubs of his nipples, his hand gliding over every inch of his torso, feeling every hair, every scar, every tight muscle, heightening his senses with his warm, calloused palm as he continued to stroke himself. He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, enjoying every ache and throb pulsating through him, gripping more tightly for a few strokes before lightening his grip again.

Tighter, softer, tighter, softer.

The constant change of pressure was enough to make him curse lowly under his breath, his lip curling upwards, eyelids half closed. Then he looked down at himself, watched his own hand as it moved. He slid his other hand down his body, rubbed around his ass, around his hip and down to the front of his thigh. He kept his rhythm slow; it had been a few days, and he could so easily and quickly bring himself to climax, such was his arousal already, but he wanted to enjoy it, savour it, make it last for as long as he could.

He stopped stroking, tightened the grip on his cock and pulled it upwards, up as far as he could take it, his hand sliding to the tip, pushing the foreskin back up around the wet, shiny head. He held it for a moment, squeezing, before he pushed it forward and down, still gripping tightly. He held it there as his balls ached harder and he swore he could feel his cock throbbing against his palm. He grunted through parted lips as he pulled it back up again, choking it between his thumb and fingers, and squeezed hard until he saw a bead of precum leak from the tip. He swept his thumb through the clear liquid, spreading it over the swollen, sensitive skin. He shuddered at the touch and swallowed hard; his mouth suddenly dry.

He shifted sideways and became aware of the tree bark digging into his back uncomfortably, so he adjusted his footing, his boots scraping the dirt as he found a better position. But he didn’t release his hold on himself. Only adjusted his grip, releasing some pressure as he made himself more comfortable against the tree.

He pushed his cock forward again, pointing it down toward the ground, enjoying the intense ache for a moment before he released himself completely. His cock snapped up, smacking loudly against his belly. He watched it for a moment, untouched and jutting out in front of him, stiff and strong, weeping at the tip as it twitched with every delicious, aching wave that pulsed through his balls. He reached down and took his balls in his hand, cupped them gently for a moment before he squeezed and rolled them between his fingers and palm. Gently at first, before he began to squeeze slightly harder with each roll of his hand, massaging them, teasing himself as he left his cock untouched for as long as he could take it. The contrast of his warm hand on his balls and the cool air on his cock was a delicious combination that almost had him whining.

When he couldn’t bear it anymore, he took his cock in his hand again and began stroking himself. The combined sensations of both his hands working together made him groan, the throbbing and aching growing with every slide and tug of his hand.

“Fuck…” he whispered breathlessly through gritted teeth.

He released his balls and spat on his palm, moved his hand and smeared it over his cock, momentarily working himself with both his hands before he brought up his other hand and did the same again; spitting into his palm and using it to slick himself up, rubbing it over the sensitive skin, the wetness adding another titillating sensation, pulling a deep growl from low down in his throat.

As he stroked with his right hand, he again brought his free hand up to glide over his stomach and down around his groin, rubbing his now super sensitive skin, causing the heat within his body to rise to the surface like bubbles in a hot spring. He stilled his hand on the front of his hip as he began to move his other hand faster, tightening his grip, the heat in his belly and groin building with every whip of his wrist. His rock-hard length seemed to strain against his palm, and he could feel himself getting closer, closer to his completion with every sweet stroke.

He watched his hand move steadily as he gradually quickened his strokes, faster and faster as he grunted and groaned and the heat seemed to rush from everywhere else in his body, straight into his aching balls. He listened to the quick, wet sounds, felt his cock drooling as the pressure built, and sucked in quick, gasping breaths.

And then he was there, moments away from his release, the building pressure almost too much to bear, closer, closer, he scrunched his eyes closed, opened his mouth… and then stopped abruptly; released his grip and let out an involuntary low whine as the intense pleasure suddenly halted, edging himself for the terrible, wonderful torture. A low pulsing throbbed through his cock and balls as it calmed. He huffed out quick, deep breaths and opened his eyes.

He waited a few beats as his breath gradually slowed before he cupped his balls and massaged them, gently rolling them between his fingers for a few moments before he took himself in his hand again. He grunted, licked his lips and swallowed hard as he started to stroke himself. Then he was humming gently as the familiar heat started to pool in his belly.

He repeated the action, bringing himself to the edge before stopping abruptly, breathing hard and throwing his head back against the tree as his cock ached and twitched and his balls felt like they might just explode. The pleasure ebbed and flowed like waves crashing against a beach. It was torture, but he loved it; loved the aching pleasure that built with more intensity every time.

When he knew he wouldn’t be able to take much more, he quickly adjusted his footing again; widened his stance a little, still gripping his leaking cock as he stood up straighter, his body no longer against the rough bark of the tree.

He swept his free hand up and down between his hip and his groin, caressing the skin and adding to the heat that seemed to be flooding his whole body. He started stroking again, slowly at first, building the pleasure just the way he liked it; slow and steady, his grip changing constantly between loose and firm.

He breathed faster as he quickened his pace and the heat and ache and pressure continued to build, pooling again in his belly, so intense that he thought he might lose his mind. He moved his hand faster, his fist now just a blur as he looked down at himself, his balls tightening, the fingers of his free hand digging into the flesh of his hip. His mouth dropped open as he reached and passed the point of no return, every part of his body awash with sensation.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

The breathless string of expletives poured from his mouth as his body tensed, every muscle becoming taught. Heat rose from his shoulders up into his neck and face, his heated skin prickled all over, his ears rang, and his jaw trembled as he finally surged dizzyingly to his climax.

He came hard and fast, groaning and grunting loudly, his breath coming short and quick, his body shuddering as hot ropes of cum spilled across his knuckles. It continued to spew from his cock again and again, spurting with every thrilling pulse, heat seemingly shooting out with the thick streams of liquid, turning his mind and his legs to jelly. He stroked himself through it all, savouring every sweet moment, determined to milk himself of every last drop.

And then he was closing his eyes, basking in the sweet, warm afterglow as he came down; sated and tired, warm and comforted. His breathing and his racing heart seemed to slow in unison as he released his grip and gently ran his palm up his softening cock from base to tip. His body shook with little tremors as he calmed, and tiny spikes of pleasure, getting gradually weaker, shot up his spine.

As his breath evened out further a smile curled at the corner of his mouth. He took a long, deep breath and sighed contentedly before he released his cock and bent to wipe his soiled hand on the grass. He pulled up his pants, tucked himself in and buttoned them. He left his suspenders hanging as he retrieved his shirt and hat.

He sauntered lazily back over to where Rhiannon was still grazing happily at the river’s edge, oblivious to everything but the sweet grass she chewed on.

He scratched her neck and looked up at the sky. The sun was sinking lower, beginning to cast a pale, pink and orange glow across the landscape. He figured he could make it to Strawberry long before the Welcome Center closed its doors for the night. He silently wondered if his favourite bath girl would be working…

“Hey gurl,” he said to Rhiannon as he shrugged his shirt on over his shoulders, “how ‘bout we spend the night in Strawberry?”


End file.
